Lesson Learned
by TheGreySpecies
Summary: Placing one foot in front of the other, Harry thought he was meeting Death at the end of the road. But would he? What if Voldemort's capricious plans lead him to the impulse of something new? What would the Wizarding World do without its hero? - Cannon Pairings
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:** Gawd, I would ****_not_**** even be on ****_fan_fiction ****if I were JK Rowling, I'll have my own awesomeness and I would ****_not _****crave stories about my own stories. **

Moving on!

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"_I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of the hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."_

Stumbling back to the castle, Ron's mind hardly registered Voldemort's empty threats towards his best friend. He knew that there was no possible way Voldemort would lay a finger on Harry, especially when Ron was there to make sure of it.

Walking beside his two best friends, Ron felt relieved that they were alive, whole, and breathing. The war had worn them down heavily, mentally and physically, as they tread on hot water, boiling dangerously as it forced its way through their eyelids. However, Ron knew they would not allow it to chant its victory. The three of them were far too stubborn for that.

The deathly silence devoured them all, pushing its way into their mind until there was nothing but the sound of Ron's pounding heart to whisk it away.

Each blow to the chest pleaded for Fred. His older brother. The one who always mocked him for his fright of spiders, the one who teased him like all older brothers do; he would willingly take all the teasing and mocking even when it _did_ hurt, just to have his brother back. He could not accept the thought that his brother, Fred, the brother who lit up the world — not with fireworks — but with his gregarious and mischievous character, had just. . .

'No.'

Shaking away these hungry thoughts, he attempted to focus on the now bleary path in front of him.

Every space in his body felt dense, as if he was being buried deeper and deeper into the ground with every step. He vilified the war over and over in his head, but that did not nullify the pain in the slightest. He wanted to scream until the earth shook under him. He wanted to hex every living thing on the planet for simply breathing while his loved ones clung onto their final breaths. Most of all, he wanted this damn war to end; he did not want to feel the scars on his arms, nor did he want to witness the tears forever imprinted on Hogwarts's floors.

But there was no turning back; there was only a way forward. There were no second chances; there was only one.

And for the first time in seven years that he's known him, Ron understood Harry, his pain and his losses. Before, he often thought that he _did_ understand Harry, because they were best mates. Looking back at his past self, though, Ron felt only shame for his naiveté. Before, he often thought that Harry did not really have a loss to mourn for: he hardly knew his parents, Cedric, even Sirius, but now he felt like sinking to his knees and begging for forgiveness from Harry. How could he have not noticed the pain that corresponded with a death?

Startled out of his thoughts, Ron's stricken face whirled around to search for the said messy-haired teen. As Hermione had quoted, Harry did possess a 'saving-people thing.' Ron nearly chuckled as the thought echoed in his head. It felt like the thought had awoken after years of hibernation.

He sighed. Although Ron had confided in himself that Voldemort would not snatch Harry, he still worried for his friend. He might leave willingly especially when, Ron knew, he was stewing in his own guilt.

"Ron?" Hermione's distant voice met his ears. She was staring at him curiously, wondering why he had suddenly stopped. She was a mess. Her robes were torn and he could never recall a time when her hair was _that _bushy: bits of it was flying all over her face and Ron suppressed the urge to tug it back, bury that look of vulnerability she had sketched on her face in his chest, and never let her out of his haven of security.

"Where's Harry?" Ron's voice quivered as the last note died on his lips.

Comprehension dawned on her features as she pointed behind him, and, indeed, Harry was there. It seemed as if he had found no point of walking, of moving, of living; he was standing in the middle of the path, staring at the ground, and without questioning, Ron knew he saw nothing. Nothing but the shouts, sobs, and wails of his friends assuaging him. His bangs had fallen over his eyes, shielding them from the depravity of life.

Ron had only seen his friend like this when Sirius died. Even then, Ron knew that Harry had still not given up, because although the guilt had ripped him apart, Ron had still detected a glimmer of hope in his eyes when he had returned the summer after. For the first time, Ron did not want to step forward and see those last rays of hope snivel and die; he was hesitant.

Glancing down, he spotted the glass vial that Severus Snape had handed Harry during his final moments of life clutched tightly in the green-eyed wizard's hand. He prayed, that whatever was in there, could help them, help the Wizarding World, help Harry.

Thinking back to all the things Harry and Hermione had done for him, he felt like he owed them this small dose of courage. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. He felt Harry tense; he knew he had startled him. Lifting up his head, Harry opened his eyes and met Ron's.

Struggling to repress a wince, out of the many abstruse emotions shining through the emerald eyes, Ron pinned the one that outshone them all: guilt. It was the same type of guilt that blinded him after the deaths of Sirius, Dobby, Dumbledore, Hedwig, and countless others. Only this time, it was the brightest. Ron had never seen Harry look so vulnerable; in fact, the only time he had seen him like this was when he first met him in King's Cross station, stuttering for help from his mother.

Ron exchanged a look with Hermione to not let Harry out of sight during the hour, especially in this condition. She nodded, stepping forward to place a hand on Harry's arm in a comforting gesture. Ron met Harry's eyes in silent communication, and the raven-haired teen nodded.

Stepping forward, they began their journey to the castle of despair.

The journey to the castle of despair was complex; first, one had to step through the road of wrenching memories: Hagrid's hut here, the Quidditch Pitch there, and the tree that the _famous_ Golden Trio lounged in all those years ago, another. Ron sighed. He cursed Hogwarts, better yet, Hogwarts was already cursed.

Entering the cursed castle was not difficult, considering the doors were blown off, rubble drowned them underneath. Carefully, they climbed through it to their destination: the Great Hall. Even from the entrance hall they could hear what awaited them behind the curtains. Not one of them raised their heads to peek into each others' eye, but moved forward, on slippery wood.

The beating of Ron's heart was so loud; he was shocked to see indifference radiating from Harry and Hermione, as he stepped into the room.

The sight that greeted him tore at every organ in his body. He felt blind. The light had diminished. Was there ever one, though? Ron did not know. Because the sight of Fred's lifeless body and his family huddled around him had blinded him. Was it Fred that died or was it himself? Because he could not intake a single breath. He hardly noticed Hermione moving to join the family, or he, himself, for that matter. He did not even register the final panicked breaths coming from the person beside him as his world came crashing down.

Stumbling forward, Ron knelt down beside his mother, who had her head laid on her dead son's chest, while his father stroked her hair; a broken expression carving his archaic face. He could not see the second pair of dead eyes fastened on his twin's body. He could not feel the hands of his three remaining brothers that were attempting to comfort him. The only thing he could hear was what his heart was screaming: Fred! Fred! Fred!

The world fused itself together in Ron's eyes, and he was confused. He could not make out a single thing in the world. He could not understand the world, could not accept how it chose to amuse person then chuck hell at them like dirt. The world was jumbled up in a bleary picture as he felt something slide down his cheeks. It couldn't be tears, could it? An additional hand silenced his thoughts; it was his little sister's: Ginny.

Staring at her now, Ron knew that he had failed as a brother. He had tried so hard to help their parents shield her from the depravity of the world, yet here she was, a witness to its claws. Her eyes were blotchy, spilling tears; her flaming red hair spitting its wrath all around her, and he almost chuckled; she looked similar to the day when she barged into his room complaining about a nightmare.

He would never admit it, but he missed her when he entered Hogwarts. She was always his favorite sibling. Deciding to act on impulse, he leaned forward, placed his arms around her, and held her to his chest as she attempted to conceal her tears.

Pulling away, they both wiped their tears as Ron stood up to side next to Hermione. He wrapped one arm around her as she leaned in, sobbing. What was left of his heart broke at the sound of her wrenching, and he pulled her closer to him.

Shying away from the pain, he attempted to distract himself, peeking over her head, he received yet another blow to the gut. Remus and Nymphadora Lupin were lying side by side, holding hands, eternally asleep. Ron's eyes widened as he recalled Remus mentioning something about his son: Teddy, was it? But Teddy was an orphan now, just like his. . .

"Harry!"

Ron abruptly pulled away from Hermione as the entire Great Hall whirled around to stare at him, startled at his disturbance. But Ron had his eyes fixed on Hermione.

"Ron," Hermione's voice quivered as she murmured softly, "He probably went to see what was it in – you know?" She then gestured to her head.

Ron ran a hand across his face as he responded, "Hermione, can you honestly trust him? I mean – there's no way he won't go sacrificing himself. And it can't take _that_ long, can it?"

"What do you mean?" Molly interrupted, lifting her head from Fred's chest and wiping her eyes, halting Arthur's stroking, he, too, seemed suspicious. "Where's Harry?"

Her eyes swiveled from her youngest son to Hermione to the doors, as if she was expecting Harry to jump out from under his Invisibility Cloak; she had a protective gleam in her eyes, chanting that she will not lose another son. All seven of the Weasleys stood up as Ron explained:

"Mum, we don't know, but he was just here a minute ago –"

Ron cursed himself a thousand times over. Wasn't _he_ the one to promise himself not to let Harry out of sight? And why was Harry so _bloody_ thick?! He just _had_ to play the damn hero all the time, didn't he?

"Ron," Ginny whispered suddenly, her eyes wide; she was staring at the ground horrifically like she was expecting a giant spider to pounce on her. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Both Hermione and Ron frowned confusedly, as Hermione responded, "About a quarter of an hour – why – what's wrong?" added Hermione horrifyingly, for Ginny had gasped and cried out:

"I knew I felt something moving, but –"

But Bill had abruptly stepped forward, grabbing his little sister's shoulders, and turning her around to face him as the Great Hall began to panic. What had become of the Chosen One?

"Ginny, what are you saying? Harry's –?

Suddenly a high, cold voice drowned all other commotions. It spoke with such arrogance that Ron felt a shiver of hatred crawl down his spine. Ron briefly wondered if that talent of exacerbating others by merely speaking was innate.

"For those of you who have fought valiantly against my Death Eaters, survivors of Hogwarts, I congratulate your efforts, and bravery. Lord Voldemort values bravery. I have called upon you now to inform you of a reward that I have mercifully brought to you. Death Eaters, each of you shall return to your master at once, or on your head, be it. Survivors of Hogwarts, I address you once again, my Death Eater and I have called a retreat, and so the battle ends here. It shall recommence when I deem it wise, for now, I shall spare you the pain. Look to your dead, remember your guilt, and ask yourself: is it wise to seek me? For even the best of you have sunk down before me."

With one last high, victorious cackle, Lord Voldemort's voice final echoes was left floating beside the candles.

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**A/N: **Shoot! That was a long chapter. I must say, greetings to all of you! This is my first fanfic ever, thank ya for reading, I deeply appreciate it. I don't expect anyone to like it, its my first one, I mean, c'mon. Anyway, I hope to be back soon since I LOVE Harry (in particular) I mean – ahem – Harry POTTER so much. ;) Well, anyway, if ya enjoy it, me and you are off for a rocky ride. Just an FWI, this fanfic is mostly centered around Harry and Ronnie's friendship because _I _love it, and I really don't like how the fans don't appreciate them much. I mean, they're brothers, WTH. Anyhow, there will _not_ be a whole lot of romance either, because – well – I suck at it. ;') M'kay, last thing, I _think_ this will all be from Wonnie's POV, I'm not sure, what do y'all think? Anything but Harry's 'cause we don't want to ruin the suspense. :3 Now if y'all'll e'cuse mai, I must go discuss the next chapter with Voldy Moldy. –cackles madly–

PS. I love reviews and reviewers. :3


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Lesson Learned**

**Disclaimer: -groans- Again? I squeal every-time Harry is mentioned anywhere; do I honestly sound like a decorous author? Therefore, I don't own Harry, although, I would love to, along with an assuaging fireplace. .**

**Ahem, Choco.**

**Ermaigawd, Umbridge? :O**

**Er **–

**Anyhow, a warning: this chapter does contain minor profanity, not my fault, blame Ronnie. ;)**

**On with de story, si?**

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Silence.

There was no other word to delineate the scene. The survivors of the battle met Silence nauseatingly. The Great Hall's dreary atmosphere assuaged one identical thought to devour their mind: why?

Ron could think of nothing more; it was as if his mind had stopped functioning altogether. He inferred that it had abandoned him in fear for its own life. The traitor.

Why? Why would Voldemort surrender willingly? Ron could not recall a time when _Voldemort _had surrendered. He had incessantly either murdered his victims, or his victims would narrowly escape his wicked grasp. But now . . .?

Ron had thought that coming to Hogwarts would signify the end of this wretched war. With the additional help from the staff, students, the Order, and countless allies, Ron had puerilely thought they _could_ do it; they _could_ overthrow Voldemort; hell, he was wrong. Ron underestimated him and was currently suffering the consequences. With _one_ last Horcrux left, the bastard had to just leave!

Again the word nagged his mind like a woman: why? There _had_ to be a reason! Ron knew, of the many situations his best mate got himself into, Voldemort did _not _just surrender. Was he intimidated? Ron thought that was severely unlikely because of Voldemort's conceited character. But he could have been under the stress of losing the _last_ Horcrux, right? Ron shivered with rage as he interpreted that thought. They were so _bloody_ close.

With eyes conveying his contemptuous thoughts vehemently, he proceeded to scan the Great Hall for reactions; he was not the least bit surprised at the display presenting itself in front of him. Some of the survivors had their heads bowed, some sinking to their knees, muttering under their breaths. Others looked intensely enveloped in their grief that Ron was afraid they would depart the world beside their lifeless loved ones.

But Ron did not have the will to express their feelings. In fact, he felt something missing, a sardonic voice whispering in his head. He seemed to have forgotten something – a missing piece of a puzzle – but what was it?

He gazed around at his family, at Hermione, at Luna, at the Order, but what was missing? It devastated him that it was on the tip of his tongue, mocking him, teasing him, and winning.

But he could not finish his contemplation, for Hermione had interrupted, distressing Silence.

"There has to be a reason, an explanation – anything," she pleaded hysterically, "He wouldn't just _surrender_, just like that!"

Ah, great minds think alike. It seemed they had both crossed an intersection with no knowledge of where of where it was leading. Ron was confident that the reason to that statement was the missing piece of the puzzle, yet, nobody could think rational anymore. Rationality had deserted them teasingly.

"Why don't we calm down and think this through rationally?" Percy croaked out as Ron snorted humorlessly. Rationality was out of the question. Hermione and Ginny glanced him for a split second before looking away, saying nothing. They decided to let him be, for now.

The survivors of the battle had also turned their weary eyes upon them, a burden appeared to have settled itself on their shoulders, and they looked – for all the world – like they could care less about the answer. The only significant factor that mattered was that Voldemort had surrendered, and they did not have the slightest idea _when_ the battle would resume.

"Agreed," Hermione responded, attempting to mitigate herself, and others, "Let's start from the beginning – based on what we know about Voldemort."

"Know?" Ron sputtered, breathing heavily like he had been running a mile, "We don't need to _know_ anything other then he's a mass murdering bastard!" Gazing at George's still figure, it was easy to utter those words, with no mercy.

"Ron," Molly admonished her son taciturnly, and Ron forced himself calm, for her sake alone. He sincerely hoped that the fire in her was still burning despite the depravity of the war.

"What _I _want to know," Ginny reprimanded, "Is why Voldemort decided to come to Hogwarts in the first place? I mean – we know we came to fight," she said, looking around at the fixed stares of the Great Hall, "But _why_? Why would he choose _Hogwarts_ as his battlefield?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply but found himself incapable of uttering a single coherent word. The answer was so easy, so simple – yet at the same – difficult and mind-numbing . . . the missing piece . . . Ron's intuition informed him that he was correct, yet it just could not tell him the subject of the correct answer. Again, Hermione took it in her stride to answer the question.

"He loved it here – Voldemort, I mean," she said subconsciously, "Naturally, he would feel drawn towards it; he kept all his secrets here."

To Ron, that did not sound right; it was reasonable, yes, but there was something else. Something that the painter had not finished painting yet.

"There are no _real_ secrets," A serene voice startled them, drawing the survivors' attention towards the blonde-haired witch, Luna; she was a mess as well, yet despite her torn robes, messy hair, and blood splattered on her, she looked completely herself, always keeping her view on the world positive. Ron briefly wondered why she had not been sorted into Gryffindor. "Secrets are things that are implied but hidden; they're all revealed eventually."

The entire room stared at her oddly, as if she'd sprouted another head while Ginny distracted Hermione before she could reprove Luna. Luna, however, appeared unusually interested in tracing the air, oblivious to the stares. Ron knew – and he agreed – that they hoped the comment was merely a prediction, nothing more.

Abandoning Luna's previous comment in the air, Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke up with his own confessions.

"Voldemort would not impose a battle if he did not feel threatened," he said, austerely, and Ron was painfully reminded of the battle at the Ministry, "Consequently, bringing him here –"

A threat. Ron's sapphire eyes widened to the point where it physically hurt, yet his chest constricted painfully. The saddened obscurity blinding his eyes had – at last! – lifted, but he did not rejoice, no, he did the complete antithesis of rejoice, he wept in his mind. How could he forget? How could _anyone _forget the one person entitled to the world in a different way? The most altruistic person:

"To Harry," Ron's taciturn, hoarse voice crawled its way into listening ears, filling in the missing gaps; he was breathing heavily now as the Great Hall silenced so suddenly, he might have shouted. Abruptly, with a second's pause, hell broke loose.

The Great Hall was filled with the sounds of shouting, sobbing, and muttering, as the survivors struggled to come to terms of what has become of their Chosen One. It sounded like the battle had resumed earlier than expected, not that Ron had minded though. He could hear nothing other than the panicked breaths Ron had heard before he had set out to meet his family's grief.

"ENOUGH!" A previously absent voice suddenly shouted as he entered the room, Neville, an awfully archaic expression boring into his face as he spoke again, "If you'd like to know, I spoke with Harry a while ago, he seemed a bit odd, but he was alright." He reassured them.

"W-what," Ron cursed at the sound of his voice breaking, clearing his throat, he tried again, "What did he say?"

Neville looked slightly embarrassed, and Ron was reminded of the timid boy he had met on the train years ago, "Well – er," he began, " He said to tell you two," gesturing to Hermione and Ron, "To kill the snake, or me if anything happens to either of you."

Hermione and Ron looked alarmed. This confirmation was all they needed, really, to prove that Harry _did_ set out by himself. Ron met Hermione's panicked gaze and saw fear and denial in her brown eyes as well.

"Neville," Hermione's shook as she spoke, "Did he say why just _us_? What is _he _going to do?" She wiped her current spilling tears as she attempted to avoid the truth that was mocking them. The question certainly implied Harry's determination to help even what did _not _concern him. In other words, he would not just leave them a job without him working on one of his own.

"He said tha-that he was leaving, and that it was all part of the plan. I reckoned you knew about it, so I didn't worry," Neville finished, scanning their expressions. From the horrified looks on Ron and Hermione's countenance, the survivors could only conclude that their hero was. . .

"NO!" Ron shouted, fuming like lava, "Harry wouldn't just leave! Not without telling us! How do you know he went into the _Forbidden Forest, _anyway? He can't be dead!" Even as he voiced it, fairly loud, Ron struggled to believe _himself_. The bloody git was far too noble for his own good, and Ron _knew_ that. Images of Harry's head bowed, embraced by Guilt burned Ron's eyes, and he looked away. Ron wanted to hate him then and now. Most people thought nobility was an admirable trait, but as Ron grew older, he discreetly grew to despise it, because of Harry _bloody_ Potter.

Hermione cut him off immediately, "Ron, we're not saying he is," she spoke, terrified now, "Stop jumping to conclusions; we need proof, and as Voldemort didn't say anything about H-Harry," she stuttered, "I'm positive that he's still alive considering Voldemort feeds on pride. He would've said something, especially anything pertaining to Harry."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, "And if there's no body – well, that's enough proof we have that he isn't – and Mad Eye's situation was entirely different," he added after glancing at Bill and Charlie's suspicious faces, "This is Harry, Undesirable Number One, they'll rejoice with his death."

He deliberately ignored the winces at the final statement. The Weasley women and Hermione looked fit to burst into tears at the mere _mention_ of this.

"I say it's best if we split up and find him," Neville announced, pinning his gaze at Ron, who had opened his mouth to retort, "At least a dozen of us can search in the Forbidden Forest – that's where Voldemort told Harry to go – the rest can stay here and search."

As the survivors split up to search for their hero, the Weasleys, Kingsley, Neville, Luna, and Hermione proceeded to exit the Great Hall towards the Forbidden Forest. As they did, Ron noticed one Weasley who refused to join them: Ginny. She was standing in the center of the Hall with wide eyes, staring at the floors, Ron knew, with no interest.

"Ginny?" Ron addressed his sister quietly, cautious of startling her, "Are you coming?"

Ginny lifted her wide eyes to stare at her brother's, and he could see that her eyes were desperately begging her to spill her tears; naturally, she refused.

"N-no," she said, stuttering, "I'll stay here; they might need my help here."

She looked away at her final statement; Ron did not believe her. He knew she was lying, but he understood why she refused to accompany them. She did not want to see the possibility of Harry's lifeless eyes piercing through her, so he let it slide.

"Alright, then," Ron said, sighing, "We'll be back soon."

He watched as she nodded, stepping away. Still staring at nothing in particular, she exited the Great Hall. He wanted to shout to her to be careful but his mouth seemed to have its own mind. It was pointless, he concluded. No one was safe anymore. Had they ever been, though? Ron ignored the question. Casting one final glimpse of Fred's body shielded under a deathly pale sheet, he proceeded to accompany the others into the Forbidden Forest.

* * *

The survivors remaining in the castle investigated Dumbledore's office, all four of the Common Rooms, teachers' offices, every other room they knew about was thoroughly searched. Not a single hair proved that the famous teen had even _existed_.

* * *

As the survivors in Hogwarts double-checked the castle, the investigators in the Forbidden Forest divided into groups of three to save more time. They even took the risk of asking the centaurs for the whereabouts of the boy wizard — cautious of attack, but the centaurs proved harmless. In fact, they only provided hints of hearing human feet stumbling through the twigs of the forest. They had unusual expressions on their faces – lack of pride? – as they informed them about the shoe imprints upon the forest's floors – with a slightly shamed look, as Ron identified the prints as Harry's.

As Ron, Hermione, and Neville followed the footprints imprinted upon the forest floor, Ron's heart begged for breath; he wanted to stop, to leave, and never return. He did not want to face what awaited him at the end of the tracks. A train might run him over.

'Let Harry be alive, please let him live.' Ron's thoughts begged desperately. He wondered when Harry had become such a dear friend – no, not friend, never friend – brother. Ron did not care that Harry had coal-black hair and bottle-green eyes; he did not care if Harry's mother was named Lily and Ron's named Molly. They were brothers, and no one could tell him otherwise.

In fact, Ron saw Harry as the younger brother he never had; he had stopped begging his mother for another brother when Harry stumbled into his life. He could not help but attempt to shield him from harm, just as his older brothers did for him, cheer him up during his moments of melancholy, and aid him as much as possible.

Ron doubted that if he really did have a younger brother by blood, he still would not correspond to Harry. Ron never noticed the difference between a life with Harry and a life without him, until now. He had always known where Harry was, but now . . . His eyes burned intensely – the pain was familiar; it was similar to the pain he experienced when Fred . . . Again, he refused to acknowledge the tears.

The three of them continued down the trail with trembling, sweaty hands; the boys knotted theirs while Hermione twisted hers nervously, yet they could not ignore the one question that frightened them the most: did Harry willingly walk to his death? Try as they may, they could not ignore it – a permanent sticking charm was placed on it.

Finally, the footsteps stopped. The three did not dare to glance at the other; all they could process was that Harry was not there. Not a body in sight, yet the imprints ended.

"Do you suppose –" Hermione's trembling voice startled them, "He apparated?"

"But wasn't Voldemort here as well?" Ron said, matching Hermione's tone, "They might've battled and appa –?"

Suddenly, a sniffling filled the air, cutting off all future comments. Drawing out their wands, Ron, Neville, and Hermione looked around for the owner of the sniffle, but they found nothing. Holding their arms out in front of Hermione, Ron and Neville circled the area, attempting to find the subject. Finally, they found it.

What they had thought was merely another tree turned out to be a trembling figure tied to a branch. It's bushy beard and hair covered its entire countenance, as Hagrid shuddered with every sob.

"Hagrid!" Ron, Hermione, and Neville shouted at once. The sounds of the gasps startled Hagrid as he lifted his head to peek up at them with wild beetle eyes.

"Ron, Hermione, Neville!" Hagrid cried out, looking relieved to see them alive and whole.

"Oh, Hagrid, w-we," she stuttered, "We thought you were a goner," she squeaked out, slightly teary-eyed.

"Hagrid, are you alright?" Neville asked, moving forward to pat him on the elbow. He gestured to Ron to assist him in un-tying Hagrid from the tree. They succeeded, and the six foot tall half-giant stood up, head bowed towards the ground.

"Nah, I'm fine, jus' fine," he grumbled, waving them off as tears continued to spill from his eyes, "It's jus'–"

"Hagrid!" Ron exclaimed rather loudly, starling the remaining three, "How long have you been here? Have you seen Harry?"

But that seemed to break the half-giant even more. They watched helplessly as he sank to his knees, sobbing. Neville, Hermione, and Ron exchanged quick glances as they attempted to calm him down. His sobbing shook the trees surrounding them.

"Hagrid, please calm down," Hermione soothed, tears falling down her dirt covered face, "Did something happen to make you this upset?"

"Oh, Hermione!" Hagrid cried out, still hysterical, "I did nuthin', I jus' stood the'e and watch–"

"Watch?" Ron whispered, now pleading, "So someone _was_ here? Harry, right?" he said, gazing at Hagrid but not really seeing him as the sobs renewed hysterically, "Hagrid, please tell us!"

Hagrid lifted his wet eyes, stared at them dead in the eyes, and confirmed their fears.

"_Harry's dead."_

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**A/N:** Uh-oh! Poor Hagrid, did y'all really think I'd forget such a loveable character? There is something about Hagrid that you will find out later in the story, something that will make you look this: :O I won't say a thing pertaining to Harry; I'm evil, aren't I? ;)

Haha! ;) Anyway, I'm back! Howdy!

Have y'all noticed the slight comic relief I keep throwing in? I dun wan melancholy to settle upon y'all throughout the _whole_ story. Hehehe.

It's really hard being the Chosen One's best friend, I mean, you have to constantly endure the pain of losing him _all_ the time, but I would certainly endure it, for mai Harry. .

If anyone wanted to ask why everybody forgot Harry after Voldemort's speech, I, personally, can relate to that. Stress, man, stress is a person's worst enemy. Stress can make you forget where your spoon went even when you, yourself, are holding it in your hand. I dunno about y'all, but it happens to me.

Neville. Neville has replaced Harry as leader. I can certainly agree to that from the confidence he displayed in the Deathly Hallows when the Golden Trio arrived at Hogwarts. Some may disagree, but my opinions are my own; we all agree to disagree. ;)

Also, I was wondering, do y'all think I'm too into details? I mean, do I drag on too much? I've been referencing other authors and I've been feeling slightly insecure about it. Anyway, thanks for reading; sorry for the long author's note. Don't expect another chapter this entire week. This week is really hectic for me, I hope y'all understand.

Final comment: there _will_ be a time-skip, I'm still deciding how long it will be, but there will be, nevertheless. Well, then, with that said, hope y'all enjoyed the chapter, and now I shall bid adieu to y'all.

Adieu!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Lesson Learned**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own Harry, but I like to imagine that I do.**

**Sorry for taking so long to update, y'all, but school has been hectic for me. Here's an extra long chapter to make it up. ;)**

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The ghastly, savage brawl inside Ron's mind had been lost. Fear had emerged unscathed; Ron was forced to resign and embrace Fear like he would with a long lost brother. Fear had incessantly tried to crush the dam Ron had built between them, and now, Ron could do nothing but watch that dam collapse and drown his mind with the trickles of Fear's siblings. Would the flood ever end?

There were no surroundings around him: no thoughts, and no humans, there were only thestrals. Fear was manipulating him; Ron's body did not belong to him anywhere, someone had surely placed a label on his forehead stating: "this is the property of Fear."

Fear had been the friend – the brother, figuratively speaking – that he had always dreaded to meet. They had met along intersections; Ron had bid him a fine evening before the start of the battle at Hogwarts, and now Fear had stumbled by – with good intentions – biding Ron a fair night as he lunged at him – merging into him, until Ron could see no more.

Suddenly another fiend joined Fear's fiesta: rage. Ron had never experienced such vehement rage; it caused him to tremble from head to heel, make his hands undeniably sweaty, and his neck and ears to sear painfully. Rage, also, seemed to have two Horcruxes, and it did not seem to know which one was more significant: the boy or the bastard. Scratch that, they were both bastards.

How could Harry – or anyone! – think their life was so inconsequential, so worthless, that throwing it away would not matter? Why would he surrender himself to the bastard when he could have told them and the three of them would have sorted it out together? They had always confided in each other – always!

_'Until now . . .'_

And more importantly, Harry had left Ron with the sense of betrayal crawling up his spine. Did their friendship mean nothing to Harry? After all those years of laughter, of security, and of comfort, Harry just threw it away like rubbish? Did he not trust them enough to leave without uttering a single explanation? They had always helped him fight his fears, why would he just _leave _when they needed him now as much as he had needed them before?

Apparently, he didn't; otherwise, he would have been there, in the Great Hall. Instead, he had just left them with his final words, with Neville as his messenger.

_'Kill the snake . . .'_

Blinded by an opaque curtain of rage, Ron could not contemplate the meaning of those words; instead, he – assertively – decided that he would not; he was done. As long as that statement came from that traitor, he will not obey it.

Despite these negative thoughts, Ron felt a reluctant burden being swept off his shoulders with a broom. He had nothing to worry about, really, but he refused to acknowledge the empty feeling that had settled upon him as he confirmed his retreat; indeed, an oyster with no pearl.

Dazedly, Ron did not register the two frozen human beings floating in blocks of ice beside him; moreover, he did not register the figure that was causing the ground to shake like an earthquake with his sobs. The one thing that his mind was screaming was to get out – step out of the arena and never step foot into hell again.

And indeed, he did just that, leaving the other three behind; he just didn't give a damn anymore, honestly.

He had no clue where he was going, nor did he care, he just wanted to disregard the general species of human beings. Stumbling on a twig, Ron strode towards the direction leading out of the forest.

He missed – or ignored – the desperate look that Hermione was shooting his way as he left. He did not register her pleading for Neville to watch over Hagrid, and most definitely, he did not register the fact that he was walking away from her – again, and she was chasing him – again.

He nearly snorted as he recalled the saying that his mother had always used: "fall in the hole once – twice, and they'll say it was a mistake – thrice, and they'll call you a moron."

"Ron?!" Hermione shouted. He could hear her panting as she struggled to reach him; moreover, he heard her trip and stumble on the loose branches of the trees, and Ron felt the slightest twinge of guilt. Why did she constantly insist on chasing him? Why couldn't she just accept his disloyalty?

Although, he couldn't deny that that was one of the things he loved about her, and if Fear and Rage would surrender themselves to him, he would turn around, embrace her, reassure her that she could trust him, and that everything was going to be just fine.

_'If only . . .' _

Ron began to jog; he couldn't stand it; why wouldn't she just _leave_? He wanted to feel guilty for leaving her! Fear and Rage wanted more pain, and she could serve that to them, if only she would turn around and walk away.

"Ron, please!"

Ron heard her pace rapidly increasing, but he kept his pace neutral. It was a lost cause. She was going to reach him, anyway, so she did.

A figure obscured Ron's vision, and he looked away from it, as he came to a stop.

"Ron, please look at me." Hermione implored. Despite her quivering voice, she still remained head-strong, and he used to admire those simple qualities about her; now, nothing seemed special about her as he stubbornly refused. She was testing his waters – being the contentious one that she was – and Ron knew, if he spoke, he would be spilling all his feelings down a waterfall.

"So, that's it, then?" she said, her voice getting stronger with every note, "You're just going to believe that Harry's d-dead? Just like that?"

Ron could hardly believe what he was hearing. After all that has happened and she denied Harry's death with a defiance? He briefly wondered if they were both going mad. Rage and fear seemed to blind him, what he saw was no Hermione, just darkness, nothing more.

"You heard what Hagrid said, Hermione! Harry – is – dead!" he bellowed at her, feeling Rage cheering him on,"He saw him – DIE! And here you are, calling Hagrid a bloody liar!"

"I'm not calling Hagrid a liar!" she exclaimed, so taken aback that she took a step backwards, "There isn't a _body_, Ron! We don't know what exactly happened to Hagrid, but there are thousands of justifications to why he was saying what he did!"

Ron shook his head, she was exacerbating him, but he did not want to deal with her right now. His emotions were like leaking jars and he couldn't sort them out properly; he could not understand where the chess pieces were positioned.

"Yeah?" Ron breathed, in a heavily sardonic tone, " Why, exactly? Because he fancies seeing our bleeding eyes?"

"The Imperius Curse, Ron!" Hermione reprimanded, looking contemptuous with her bushy hair spitting like lava all around her, "He could've been under the Imperius Curse, remember? You said it yourself; you said that Voldemort was in the Forbidden Forest as well; it's not unheard of."

Through Ron's frustration and his now scarlet complexion, a memory came taunting him behind his opaque curtains, and it dawned on him that she was wrong, absolutely wrong.

"Did you not hear what the bastard said?" he said, glaring at her intensely, gesturing wildly, looking more like a lion with his flaming hair than ever, "Don't you remember? He said that "even the best of you have sunk down before me." Who else could he have been talking about? He's only ever considered _Harry_ a threat! No one else!" He finished, breathing heavily.

Ron was hoping that she would drop the entire subject and accept the truth. Looking at her now, he savvied that that was not the case, for she had lifted her head, chin up, with a Hermione-like stubbornness glinting in her eyes.

"He could've been talking about someone else," she said, causing Ron to growl menacingly, "It _is_ likely, there are other brilliant witches and wizards whom can also be considered as threats; he could've been trying to fool us, too."

"If that's right," he snarled, gritting his teeth painfully, "Then I'll give the advantage."

This time, however, Hermione had dropped her shield with a clang. Her stubborn countenance fused into one of hopelessness, and he couldn't pin the feelings he had at this sudden change: guilt or joy.

"But," Hermione said, helplessly mitigating herself – managing, and failing, "Ron, what if Harry's still alive? What about Voldemort?"

"I don't care," Ron declared, and it was final; that empty feeling was still there, and it will always be there as long as he refused to change his mind, "What difference will _I _make about Voldemort, anyway? And if Harry chose to leave to fulfill his "plans" then why should I care?"

He couldn't help but cheer to the melody chanting traitor each time Harry was mentioned.

"He was doing what he thought was right," Hermione whispered; he couldn't help but notice that it was mildly forced, "He's your best friend –"

"That's dead?" he said acerbically, "Yeah, I know."

"Ron!" Hermione said deprecatingly, hesitantly stepping towards him.

Why did she still insist on believing that lie? He couldn't stay here any longer, he felt like a caged werewolf; he just had to get out before he did something he will most certainly regret. And so he did. He shoved her to the side and treaded down the path – to where? – he didn't know, but he knew it would lead away from her, and that was all he wanted to do.

"Ron!" Hermione pleaded, her voice reaching him faster than she, herself, did, "Please don't leave! You were the one who denied the mere possibility of Harry's death."

Ron noted that her breath was gradually growing panicked as he continued down the path of traitors. Someone was squeezing him tightly; it felt like he was being carried by a giant's hand, deeply knotted.

"That was before I had any evidence."

As he ducked his head towards the ground and walked away from her, he caught sight of the footsteps deeply woven into the ground. This mere evidence was all he needed, really. Just what was going on her head, he did not know.

"If you would only _listen_," Hermione emphasized, sounding both frustrated and scared, "Then you would know that there's evidence that he's _not_ as well."

Ron didn't answer; instead, he and Hermione played the goose-chase game.

Oh, how he wished what she was saying was true, that Harry _was_ alive, but everything was pointing against it. And how could she ever understand that Ron wanted to deny it because of his intimidation? He did not want to admit that Harry was – at this very moment – locked up somewhere dark, tortured in every way possible, and worrying about the fates of his loved ones. Yes, it was very comforting to think that he was peacefully dead; it couldn't hurt, could it? After all, Death was not the worst enemy.

Seconds passed like years before he heard Hermione's voice calling to him. She had stopped somewhere behind him as she declared the words that made him want to sink to his knees in front of her and beg her to say that she didn't mean it.

"If you leave again, Ron," Hermione said, her voice trembling with each word, "I swear I won't forgive you. And this – thing – whatever this thing is between us – it'll end."

Her voice was strong and her decision final. She had laid the burden back on his shoulders: stay, fight, and deal with all the depravity that life threw at him, or walk away and never have to worry about a single soul again. It felt like he was deciding whether to choose riches or rags.

He shut his eyes. He felt like screaming vehemently; he just wanted her to explain to him what all these abstruse emotions scattered throughout him were doing to him. As much as he desperately wanted to get away, he couldn't just leave her. She was the only magnet drawing him towards her, and he knew that if he turned away, she would find someone else, and remember him as the world's humblest traitor. She would probably tell her children about him, as well.

And then there was Harry. All the pain was his to blame. Did he not notice that he was stealing their sanity with him as he took those steps into the forest? And what if what Hermione was true? What if Harry _was_ alive? Then Voldemort most definitely took him, and – Ron shuddered – he would use whatever acts of torture he thought of on him. Could Ron really allow that to happen?

And Ron made his decision as he heard the gasps behind him. The sight that greeted him as he turned around vilified his every weakness; it elicited such an immediate response from him that he forgot _his _pain and he remembered others who had such immense pain that they physically trembled with it. And Hermione was doing that.

It seemed her pain had drawn her towards the ground where she knelt, trembling with every sob coursing through her body. She had dug the palm of her hands into her eyes as she had concluded the decision for him; he had been hesitant with his decision, and she had determined the worst. She had thought she had lost both of her friends now.

It was virtually impossible to leave her now; he would spend the rest of forever pondering upon his arrogant behavior. In a way, he was worse than Voldemort.

He could not take it any longer; he walked towards her, knelt down, took her hands between his, and helped her into a standing position. He didn't think his heart could stay beating for much longer as he enveloped her into his arms, resting his chin upon her wicked hair.

"Please don't leave." Hermione whispered hoarsely into his chest, clutching his robes tightly.

"'M not leaving," Ron muttered softly in return, tightening their embrace, "Never again."

They remained in that position for quite a while before they were interrupted by footsteps and rustling trees. Instinctively, Ron pulled Hermione behind him and drew his wand out, immediately assuming there was a Death Eater, but it wasn't . . .

"Ron! Hermione!" A familiar voice called out to him from within the trees.

And suddenly, there wasn't just one pair of footsteps, there were many. It was the others searching in the forest – minus Neville.

"Thank Merlin, you're safe." Molly breathed, looking relieved at the sight of her youngest son and Hermione as she stole each of them into her arms,

"We were just going to assume that you had returned back to the castle," said Arthur , also relieved, "We were searching for quite a while."

Ron shook his head; he wasn't going anywhere, and he inwardly thanked Hermione for that decision; in fact, she was currently eyeing him with an approving stare, and he welcomed it.

"No sign of Harry?" Ron questioned wearingly; the burden felt heavy on his shoulders; it sucked out his energy.

"None," responded Kingsley, his tone identical to Ron's, "We were hoping you two had better leads than we did. After all, you knew him better."

"We did." Hermione said, and she explained every lead they had found as they treaded on back to the castle; Ron stayed silent.

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"But," Bill said, throwing in some suggestions to Hermione's theory, "Wouldn't someone have to be standing near Hagrid to cast the Imperius Curse? You didn't see anyone, did you?" Eyeing both Ron and Hermione as they shook their heads. They neglected to explain that they were mildly distracted to even begin to search for a person near Hagrid.

"There is no way Harry is dead," said Charlie, running a hand through his hair, "I'm sorry, but anything pertaining to Harry Potter is never kept hushed up."

"There is evidence that he is," Arthur stated, startling everyone with this confession, "And there is also evidence that he isn't. This war is confusing, but are we be positively sure that Harry _was_ going to Voldemort or not?"

"True," Percy responded, "How can we be sure that those footsteps are Harry's and not someone else's? It could've been the Death Eaters, or anyone fighting outside the walls of Hogwarts?" They all turned towards Ron and Hermione.

The two glanced at each other for a split second before ducking their heads. They weren't _entirely _sure, but they had a slightly educated guess.

"Well," Hermione said, "Harry has an Invisibility Cloak, and the centaurs said that they heard footsteps coming near them but they couldn't identify the source, so it must've been Harry's, right?" She finished, looking around at all of them.

"Not necessarily," Percy responded again, ever the pompous one, "It could've been someone lurking out of sight, yet near."

"Let's not get too carried away," a previously absent voice – George's – hoarsely interrupted, "Let's see if anyone at Hogwarts will give us some hints."

Everyone was startled at hearing his voice; it felt like they hadn't heard his voice for years, and Ron hated that it reminded him of their losses instead of the joy that it had previously brought him. They treaded the rest of the way silent as night before some of them volunteered to help Neville in coaxing Hagrid back as well.

By the time they had arrived at Hogwarts, the first rays of dawn was pushing its way through their grey atmosphere as a symbol of their remaining rays of hope. It did not die down when they were regretfully informed that there was no sign of the Chosen One, or were there any hints of where he was. The survivors mourned for him, yet they hadn't realized that they had solely depended on The Boy Who Lived to end Voldemort's existence; they had to depend on themselves now.

The survivors had a difficult time processing all their emotions and could hardly deal with their exhausted minds. They had all agreed that the best thing to do was to start fresh in the morning, and so they all agreed to bury their loved ones, and return home so they can figure out what they were going to do about Voldemort.

They held a small, quick funeral for their loved ones: only those who fought at Hogwarts were there; only a few had actually shed tears, mostly the mothers and Hagrid. Everyone felt empty; was it the worst that life could chuck at them? Those who were eternally dormant were all united under one ground next to Albus Dumbledore; they all agreed that it was for the best.

After the funeral, the survivors in the battle separated, each of them went home to mourn with their families. Hermione agreed to Molly's insistence that she would stay with the Weasleys; she decided that it was still to dangerous to bring her parents' memories back, and having nowhere else to go, she agreed.

"Ready?" Arthur asked, looking around at his remaining sons, daughter, wife, and Hermione, as they prepared to Apparate.

They all nodded, casting one final glimpse of Fred's tomb, they each stole a breath, and Apparated as one.

Ron caught sight of the house he's lived in for seventeen years and wondered why he couldn't find it in himself to call it home anymore, as he scanned the Burrow.

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**A/N:** I'm honestly starting to regret publishing this story; the characters are just so OOC. :/ Please, please, please review and tell me what you think. I love hearing y'all's opinions; they make me happy. :)


	4. Author's Note

**Author's Note: Lesson Learned**

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I know y'all might've thought that I had abandoned this story, but never fear, I shall - hopefully - finish this story; it's just that I have a few surprise exams that I had no idea about, and now I'm doomed. It's not that I don't know what I'm going to next, it's just that I'm trying to find a way to get to the parts that I've already thought (like the climax). Heehee. Anyhow, hope y'all'll forgive me for the wait, and now I shall bid y'all a happy new Year!

Happy new Year! :D :D :D

Also, happy birthday, Voldy Moldy!


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